Enclosed
by Blaze Moonlight
Summary: Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood. In a box. This could get interesting or dangerous... or strange.


**A/N - A little cracktastic. This was prompted by seeing some Flint and some Wood in a box whilst at the Natural History Museum yesterday (I'm a sad little fangirl with sad little fangirl friends who actually see geology exibts and thinks of fandom) and was written on the (5 hour!!!) coach journey back whilst very hyper. I've tried to fix it up a little in the typing up process but I'm not replacing any sanity lost dring the reading of this fic. Reviewers are adored.**

"Wood! What have you done?"

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"Clearly you did. How else could the charms corridor suddenly become a dark enclosed space?!"

"I don't kn- hey!"

"Ouch – you bastard!"

"Fuck – that was my crotch!"

"That was your crotch? Not much there is there?" Flint taunted without moving his hand from the position that triggered the outburst.

"Look who's talking Flint."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It – nnyg, uh – could you just move your hand before this gets even _more_ awkward!"

"Fine," he said, grudgingly shifting his hand upwards.

"Ah – uh – opposite direction might be better…" Wood gasped.

"Fussy bastard. There! Sorted."

"Umm…"

"What now Wood?"

"That's erm… Your hand's on my arse…"

"Really?" he asked. Who'd have thought Wood would have such a well-formed ass.

"Ye-AH!"

"Problem Wood?" he hissed, continuing his study of the muscle he could feel through the Gryffindor's trousers.

"W-who gave you permission to, ah, grope me?"

"Who says I need permission?"

"Uh. Oh-ah, I do?"

"You don't sound so certain Wood."

"Y-you don't even, uh, like me…"

Marcus thought about that for a moment. It was true that he and Wood possessed a fierce rivalry on the Quidditch field and that they came from opposing houses but he didn't have any serious _personal_ grudge against the younger teen. In fact he'd had to stop himself from staring at the Gryffindor more than once over the past few months, "What do you know about what's in my head Wood?"

"Enough to figure out that it makes not sense for you to be feeling me up in what ought to be the charms corridor."

"You aren't stopping me Wood… there's not many people who'd have my hands all over them without feeling violated," he taunted, moving his hands upwards to the bottom of the teen's shirt, "Tut-tut, you haven't got your shirt tucked in."

"Augh…"

He felt a touch of pride at how little it took to reduce his brunet rival into incoherency, "See what I mean Wood. You're as good as begging to be mine."

"Marcus y-you – woah!"

He felt his hands slip from their places as the enclosure around the two students made a sudden movement, "Argh – what the…?!"

"We just jerked sideways…"

"Dammit," Marcus spat. Wood was right. Whatever had happened had tipped the space they were in over, so that, instead of being almost side by side, Oliver was now basically straddling his hips with their chests pressed together in a position that couldn't be at all comfortable for the Gryffindor.

"If I shift me weight a bit, like this," Oliver remarked, squirming against Marcus as he attempted to shift his weight upwards "We might, erk, be able, nnn, to move-,"

"Stay still," Marcus ordered.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

"Wh-oh. You're hard," Oliver said, sounding surprised.

"Well what did you expect, with you wriggling and grinding against my lap like that!"

"…"

"…"

"Ohhhhh…" Oliver tone was suddenly less nervous and far more amused. Marcus had the horrible feeling that Oliver had just had an idea.

He was correct. A split second after Marcus had had the idea Oliver began to continue his movements, this time in a much more calculated manner, "Hey I said stop!"

"You're cock says otherwise," Oliver muttered. Marcus scowled but found himself without a counter argument. He was enjoying the actions of the teenage keeper far more than was probably appropriate.

"Wood I said – AURGH! Merlin! Is that your _mouth_?!" He spluttered, leaning into the exceedingly pleasurable sensation on his neck. He felt the vibrations of Oliver's chortles.

"Yeah," Oliver sounded like he laughing as he pulled away briefly, "Aren't you glad that Gryffindors have the courtesy to do things properly?"

"I – I'd hardly call that nice…" Marcus choked. He'd be more inclined to call is sinful. Still – Wood was right, there were benefits to be had from being thorough. The icy fingers slipping his shirt buttons unfastened to make a path for Oliver's errant mouth were certainly efficient.

"You don't like it?," Oliver remarked, "Sorry – I'll stop."

Marcus panicked ever so slightly as the mouth pulled away without returning and the fingers froze, "Fuckin' tease…," he growled, "Don't you dare."

"I've barely gotten past your belt. If you don't want it…" Oliver was being coy now, Marcus realised with frustration. He knew full well what Marcus wanted.

"Now!" the Slytherin demanded, jerking his hips upwards onto the Gryffindor in search of contact.

"I can't see you and have basically no room to manoeuvre," Oliver commented as he slid against the Slytherin, repositioning himself, "– patience."

"Manoeuvre?" Marcus choked, "It hardly takes that much effort to move."

"In a space this small? I can't even breath without creating friction," Oliver ground against him as if proving a point, "– coordinating myself isn't easy."

"You're a Quidditch player – how can you be uncoordinated?"

"Patience is a virtue," the Gryffindor breathed enticingly.

"We're hardly in a very virtuous position right now Woo-Oliver!"

Marcus cried out as a long-fingered hand slipped into his underwear and Oliver chuckled against his throat, "I told you waiting would-."

_R-R-R-RIP!_ Light suddenly invaded their space, temporarily blinding them.

"Ah – bright! My eyes!" Oliver wheezed, falling away from Marcus.

The two teens collapsed out into the deserved corridor. Marcus stood up and looked around. Their enclosure had apparently been a large, unusually thick, brown, cardboard box with the sides sealed up with tape.

Marcus moved his hand to return his trousers to their proper position, somewhat higher than mid-thigh, but left his shirt unbuttoned as he turned to look at Oliver who had staggered over to the other side of the corridor to lean against the wall.

Disappointingly, the Gryffindor teen was much more thoroughly dressed than him. His belt was still undone as were several of his shirt buttons but other than that, and a rather loose and skewed tie, the brunet was properly clothed. His face showed rather more of recent happenings however and looked as if he had been thoroughly debauched. Wood's lips were considerable redder than usual and a little battered looking with his breath coming in pants from between them. His pupils were dilated and his face was flushed scarlet. His thick brown hair was far messier than usual, sticking up in multiple directions to create the classic 'just-fucked' look. Marcus gave another small moan. Oliver rammed his hands in his pockets and averted his gaze downwards in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a recently deflowered virgin but with less sex.

"I-I-I," he stammered, his earlier self-conscious discomfort and awkwardness returning with the light in the place of the seductive confidence tat had gripped him in the darkness, "We should probably go back to class."

The words were weak but Marcus scowled nonetheless as he stepped forward and grabbed the smaller male by the tie, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Marcus dragged the last word out in the most seductive manner he could muster. Oliver bit chewed on his lip and shuffled awkwardly, "I-uh…no."

Marcus smirked at him, and dragged him down the corridor, commenting over his shoulder, "That's what the tent in your pants told me."


End file.
